Being Good Isn't Always Easy
by Amy-Violet
Summary: Blaine was a preacher's son, and when his daddy would visit he'd come along. When they gathered around the parlor talking, that's when Blaine would take Sam walking. The only one who could ever reach him was the son of a preacher man.
1. Chapter 1

"Stevie! Stacey! The next person who tears through this house hollering at the top of their lungs is going to be in big trouble. Do you hear me?"

It's been raining all day, and the kids can't stand to be cooped up in the house, so they _have_ been getting a bit loud and rambunctious. But they recognize that tone that signals their mother reaching the end of her patience, and they halt in their tracks. "Sorry, Momma," Stacey mutters.

"Thank you. Now. You may remember me telling you at breakfast that we're having visitors. Pastor Ray and Miss Lila will be here in one hour. In fifteen minutes I am gathering any toys laying around the parlor and they will be put away for a week." She doesn't mean _away_ as in where they belong in the children's rooms, she means _away_ as in the trunk of her car, where the children can't access them. They scramble to gather their things.

When the toys are cleared, she sets Stacey to scrubbing the sink and counters and Stevie to dusting before turning to her eldest son. "Sammy, honey, I need to sweep the floor..." This means she wants him to move the furniture for her—she can't do it herself too easily anymore after her accident at work a couple years ago.

"I really don't mind sweeping, Momma," Sam tries, as he does every time. But she won't hear of it, as usual. Ever since his voice got deeper and he started having to shave, she won't have him doing any housework that could remotely be considered feminine.

The four of them finish cleaning the house with just enough time for Mary Evans to shoo the younger children off to get themselves cleaned up before the pastor and his wife arrive. She's in the kitchen getting the refreshments ready when the doorbell rings, so Sam answers it.

He's stunned by who's there. Not by Pastor Ray and Miss Lila—they've visited a bunch of times since Pastor Ray got transferred to the church here in Dutchman's Breeches a few years ago. He visits all his parishioners frequently, and when the parishioners are unmarried ladies he always visits accompanied by his wife. But there's a third person today, a boy around Sam's age, or maybe a little older, who is...well, stunning. He's got curly dark locks, and beautiful amber eyes, and...and Sam realizes he's staring and he looks away quickly. He stands aside and ushers the group inside.

After some interminable small talk—how nice it is to see Sam outside of church, though of course they always appreciate seeing him _in _church too; how quickly he seems to be growing; how the football team's loss yesterday was too bad, but the team played a good, solid game, and that was a brilliant pass by Sam in the second quarter—Pastor Ray finally introduces the boy. "Sam, I'd like you to meet my son, Blaine. He's going to be starting at the high school on Monday. He was going to school in Brentwood, but..."

"But I've missed him too much," Miss Lila says. "I know it's silly, but next year he'll be going away to college, maybe out of state, so..."

"It's nice to meet you, Blaine." Sam holds out his hand, hoping it's not too sweaty. It is—it's a little sweaty and a little clammy, and Blaine's feels so warm and smooth in comparison. He has so many questions he doesn't even know where to start, and anyway he doesn't get a chance because his mother has come out of the kitchen and now all the adults are chattering, and the kids are there too now, asking who this new person is and when they can have a cookie, and it's all kind of chaos.

Miss Lila helps Sam's mother bring the tea and cookies out from the kitchen, and everyone gathers in the parlor. It's a small room for so many people, and the children have nowhere to sit but the arms of the sofa (strictly forbidden) or the floor (definitely frowned upon when company is present) so they stand. And fidget. And—when they're not asking tactless questions about Blaine that everyone ignores—tussle with each other. Sam sees that his mother is very close to exasperation, and he also sees that it has finally stopped raining. "Why don't I take them outside?" he suggests quietly.

"Yes, thank you," his mother says, squeezing his arm.

Sam stands, and Blaine rises too. "Mind if I join you?"

Sam just smiles at him in response.

The younger generation exits through the back door, and Stevie and Stacey immediately make a break for it, running off toward the town park. "Don't go too close to the river!" Sam yells after them, because it's probably swollen after all the rain they've had.

Sam and Blaine walk slowly through the back yard, ignoring the mud collecting on their shoes. "So..." Now that he finally has a chance to ask all the questions in his head, Sam still doesn't know where to start. Like...he knew the pastor and his wife had a son, but he thought he was already in college. That is, he thought he'd been in college a few years ago, so if he'd stopped to wonder about him since then (which he hadn't), he probably would have assumed he'd already graduated.

"You didn't know I existed, did you?" Blaine asks.

"Well, I sort of did. I just..."

"I'm surprised they mentioned me at all. They're ashamed of me."

"What!?" That is something Sam can't believe at all, not for a second. "No, they're not! I mean, why would they..."

"Because they think I'm gay."

"Oh," Sam says softly. Because that...yeah. The people in Sam's church don't find that particularly acceptable. To put it mildly. Which is why—well, _one_ of the reasons why—Sam hasn't told anyone that he thinks he might possibly be.

It's not like he's ever done anything with a boy! Not that no boy has ever tried. There was that boy from the Englewood football team just a couple weeks ago, for example, who came up to him in the parking lot after the game. And he was cute, but Sam told him he wasn't interested. And anyway he had a date with Lucy Quinn that night so...

"Aren't you going to ask if I am?" Blaine prods him.

"No, of course not," Sam says. It seems way too personal. But of course if Blaine _wanted_ to share... "I mean, unless you feel like telling me if you are or not. I mean, I don't care...Well, I mean, I don't think it's a big deal if someone is. I don't think...and I mean, no offense to your father, or anything, but I don't think it's something someone can really help, anyway."

"Well, he doesn't agree with you there. But don't worry, I'm not offended that you can think for yourself. And the answer is: Yes, I am."

And Sam can only smile at the _Yes, I am_.

The pastor starts to visit a lot more frequently, always with his wife still, and now always with his son as well. Blaine always manages to get Sam out of the house, which his father doesn't try to discourage. If anything he seems to _en_courage the two spending time alone together. Sam remarks on this once when they're out walking, and Blaine says, "Of course. He wants you to take me under your wing."

"But you're a year older than me!" Sam objects.

"Maybe, but you're the star quarterback. You're butch. No one thinks you're a pansy."

"No one thinks _you're_ a pansy," Sam says. He hasn't told anyone Blaine's secret, and he hasn't heard anyone at school suggest it. Everyone seems to accept the story that Miss Lila missed him and pulled him out of that private Christian academy so he could live at home. Blaine told Sam the truth—that he got caught making out with another boy and they were both expelled—but of course Sam wouldn't breathe a word of that to anyone.

Sam thinks of that story often, the story he thinks of as Blaine and the Other Boy. He doesn't even know the other boy's name or anything about him—what he looks like or anything—and he doesn't ever ask because he doesn't want to know. When he thinks of Blaine and the Other Boy at night, in his bed, he pictures Blaine, shirtless, hovering over the other boy, breathing on his neck, slowly lowering himself until their bodies press against each other. And that's usually as far as his imagining gets before he's touching himself, pretending that the hand under his boxers is Blaine's.

When he thinks of Blaine and the Other Boy in the daytime, though...he's glad the other boy is faceless in his mind, because he just wants to punch him. How _dare __he_? he can't help but think. He's not sure what the other boy dared to do that he finds so outrageous. Except, obviously, for knowing Blaine first. For being the first one...Did Blaine look in the other boy's eyes the way he looks in Sam's? Did he smile at him the same way? Did he...when they were in church and there weren't enough hymnals and they had to share, did Blaine let his hand graze the other boy's the way he lets his hand graze Sam's? Sam can't bear to think about these questions, and he tries not to.

It's the week before Thanksgiving the first time it happens.

They're out walking while their parents talk in the parlor, and all of a sudden they realize it's getting dark and they'd better go find Stevie and Stacey. They're walking toward the park, and with the sun gone now it's chilly. And Blaine just...he just takes Sam's hand. And Sam is stunned. So stunned that he stops walking and just looks at their hands together. And Blaine says, "I just thought maybe it was cold," and he sounds apologetic, and he tries to pull his hand away.

But Sam won't let him pull it away. He does look around, but there's no one else out, and anyway it's dark. He holds Blaine's hand back, tight, and says, "Thanks. It _was_ cold."

It _was_, but it's certainly not now. Now it feels like it's on fire. Sam's whole body feels that way...now.

Blaine squeezes his hand and starts walking faster. Not toward the park—Sam doesn't know where he's going, but he follows unquestioningly. Blaine leads him to the abandoned gas station—specifically, to the lot _behind_ the abandoned gas station. And that's where Sam gets his first kiss. (His first _real _kiss, anyway, because Lucy's nice and everything, but...) Like countless Dutchman's Breeches teenagers before him, he gets his first kiss pressed up against the crumbling brick wall of Will's Discount Gas, but unlike any of them he gets his first kiss from _Blaine, _who cups his face so tenderly and looks in his eyes so sweetly..._Blaine_, whose lips are so soft despite being chapped, and trembling, as if from nerves, even though he doesn't _act_ tentative or unsure in the least..._Blaine, _who doesn't even open his eyes again right away afterward, as they're both gasping for air.

And then Blaine takes half a step backwards and says, "Sam. I'm sorry."

"You're _sorry_?" Sam asks, confused.

"I didn't mean to presume anything, and you've been so...so decent, being a friend to me, even though you know I'm gay, and...and I love hanging out with you, don't get me wrong, it's just so hard to hang out with you and not touch you when you're so...so gorgeous, and sexy and..."

Sam blushes, and he's glad it's dark so that maybe Blaine won't notice. He's not sure how to say what he needs to, and it comes out garbled, something like: "So don't..not touch."

"So...?"

"So...I'm gay too." The last few weeks of hanging out with Blaine have made that much perfectly clear to him. He's actually surprised it wasn't equally clear to Blaine. "I'm gay too, and I liked that, so...you don't have to keep not doing it."

"Oh, thank God," Blaine says, right before Sam gets his second real kiss pressed up against the crumbling brick wall of Will's Discount Gas.


	2. Chapter 2

Soon Blaine is stealing kisses any time he can. (Well, not stealing. Sam gives them gladly.) Any time they're alone for even a minute or two—at school...in the backyard...in church...

School is the trickiest, of course, and it's pretty much never safe to try for more than a quick peck. Just enough to leave Sam feeling tingly and craving more.

The backyard is better. There are trees to duck behind, and there aren't other people around constantly. There is the _possibility_ of other people—Stevie and Stacey are never too far, their parents are just inside, and then there are always the neighbors to consider. Still, in the backyard they risk kisses that linger a bit. Kisses with open mouths and probing tongues. Sometimes, even, kisses where Sam just has to hold on tight to the back of Blaine's head, and lean against a tree while Blaine presses against him, where when they finally pull apart Sam is a little weak at the knees. Those kisses aren't too frequent, of course, because of the constant possibility of other people.

But the other thing they can do in the backyard that they can't do at school is really talk. Sam loves to hear Blaine talk. Partly he just loves the sound of his voice. Especially when he sings, which he does sometimes at church. Not just how everyone does, when they all stand and sing from the hymnal, but sometimes he plays the piano and sings at the front of the church, with everyone watching. But when he looks up from the piano it's only at Sam.

They're talking one afternoon after one of their weak-at-the-knees kisses, one that they pulled away from _just_ in time to avoid being caught by Stevie. Sam asks, finally, "Do you miss him?"

"Miss who?" Blaine asks. Like he really doesn't even know who Sam means.

"Him. The guy. The one you got caught having s-..."

"No! No, first of all, we never did _that_."

"No?" Sam could have sworn Blaine said...Maybe his vivid imagination had gotten the better of him.

"No. I mean, we made out. We kissed and, uh...touched...some. He was...he had his, uh..." Blaine blushes. "He had his hand inside my pants when we got caught."

Sam can't help it, he looks at the area of Blaine's pants that he's referring to. It looks, um. A little bulgy. "What was his name?"

"Sebastian."

Sam listens for, but doesn't hear, a note of longing to accompany the name. Still, he asks again: "Do you miss him?"

"No."

Sam is relieved. It's what he wanted to hear, of course. But it does bring up another troubling question. "So...but you do make out with guys you're not...guys you don't care about?"

Blaine frowns. "I wouldn't say I didn't _care_ about him. I'd say he didn't care about me..."

Sam takes his hand—he hates to see Blaine hurting. "How could he not care about you? You're the best."

With a glance in Stevie's direction, Blaine reluctantly disentangles his hand from Sam's. "I don't know for sure because he never really told me how he felt. But I'm pretty sure he was just interested in...you know. I think if we hadn't gotten caught making out he would have given up on me soon and started trying to get the real thing from someone else."

"That's terrible!"

"Yeah. But I'm glad, you know, that everything worked out exactly how it did."

"You are?"

"Well, I kind of regret some of the stuff I did with Sebastian. I mean, I wish I'd waited until I was in love. But that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't gotten kicked out of the academy, so..."

So...is Blaine saying he loves Sam? It sounds like it, but Sam doesn't want to guess that and be wrong. But if he is saying it, Sam doesn't want him to think he's the only one. "I...am glad you got kicked out too. You know, so we could meet and..."

"Sammy, I..." Blaine looks around and the kids are nowhere to be seen, thank God, and he strokes Sam's cheek. "I love you, Sam. I am so in love with you that...that I...God..." And for once Blaine is at a loss for words.

Sam doesn't know what to say either, so he fills the silence with a kiss, pulling Blaine close to him and holding him tight over the shirt but under the jacket. When he has to move his mouth away to breathe—only his mouth; he keeps their bodies close—he says, "I'm so happy you said that. Because I'm in love with you too."

After they say it that first time to each other, they say it a lot. But it never becomes trite or formulaic. Sam never tires of hearing Blaine say he loves him.

Blaine tells him quickly at school, between classes. Drawn out, in lots of poetic detail, when they're out in the backyard—when kissing is out because they'd be seen, but talking is in because no one is close enough to hear.

But when they're alone in the church...

When they're alone in the church they can say whatever they want. But that's also when they can _do_ whatever they want. So talking is sometimes secondary.

Technically they're never _totally_ alone in the church. Even during the week people come and go all the time—when the church isn't holding its own meetings or Bible studies, it's often renting out space to some community group. But there's one time period every week when the church is guaranteed to have only a single other occupant: Saturday mornings. That's when Pastor Ray practices his sermons, and he has made it very clear that he is _not _to be disturbed then.

And everyone's just afraid of him enough...or at least, the people who matter are. Miss Lila stays strictly inside the house when her husband is rehearsing. Their house and the church are on the same lot, and therefore share a yard, and she worries that even going out in the yard to garden might somehow be distracting. The ladies who clean the church and prepare meals for the meetings and so forth—they know not to show up Saturday mornings. And of course there are never any meetings then—the lady who does the office work knows not to schedule them.

Is Blaine afraid of his father too? A little, clearly. Enough to not flaunt his breaking of the rules. But any fear that he feels _while_ carefully breaking the rules he manages to conceal from Sam.

Sam is the one who feels weird about it. Not just the fear of getting caught, though that's huge. If Blaine got sent away...well, he can't even think about that.

But it's also just...they're in church. And it's not that he...He really believes what he told Blaine the first time they met, that he doesn't think they can help being gay. But _being_ gay and making out with your secret boyfriend in his father's church...they're not the same thing. Sam might not be able to help what he is, but he can help what he does. Or at least...he _should_ be able to. He really does want to be good—it's just not always that easy.

Especially not when Blaine looks in his eyes and talks to him so sweetly...

They're in one of the Sunday school rooms—specifically, the nursery. It's the farthest away from the sanctuary, probably so churchgoers won't be distracted from the sermon by crying babies. Not that it's really a concern with Pastor Ray preaching—he's _loud_, all fire-and-brimstone in the pulpit—but of course the building predates the family's presence there.

There are cushions on the floor—for the children, obviously, but now it's Sam who is stretched out on top of them, with Blaine partially on top of him. Blaine has unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders; he's kissing his neck and stroking his chest. Sam is trying desperately to hold onto some sense of decency. It's all good so far, he tells himself—everything is above the belt, they're not doing anything wrong. Not _that_ wrong, anyway. Yet. But Blaine's mouth keeps going lower and lower. It's on his collar bone now...now his chest...now his nipple. And he knows he should probably put a stop to what they're doing, but...but, God help him, it feels _so __good_.

Blaine's mouth stops moving lower. It stays busy right where it is, sucking and flicking at Sam's nipples, making him moan and squirm. But his hands do continue their descent, and soon they're dangerously close to the waistband of Sam's jeans. Sam moans, "Blaine...please..."

"Please what? Please do? Or please stop?"

_Please stop_, that's what Sam means. Or is supposed to mean, he knows. But he can't quite bring himself to say that. Not that he can quite bring himself to say _please do_ either. "Please..." he repeats.

"Please _what_, baby?" Blaine grips him by the hips—over the jeans. "Please tell me you want me to. But if you don't, at least tell me that _now_..."

"Believe me, it's not that I don't _want_ you to..." That part of him that he's pretty sure Blaine's hands are headed for wants very, very much to be touched by Blaine. _Aches_ to be touched by him, in fact. "It's just that..."

"Sammy..." Blaine removes his hands from Sam's hips, moves them to his face instead. He strokes Sam's hair and kisses his lips. "Sammy, you don't think...you don't think that your body is _dirty_, do you?"

"No, I showered this morning," Sam says. His attempted joke falls totally flat, and Blaine just looks at him, waiting for a real answer. Sam finds he can't even look in Blaine's eyes when he tries again: "No...I mean...maybe?"

"Sammy." Blaine holds him and kisses his forehead. Then he lets go and sits back, just slightly. "You're beautiful, Sammy. Inside..." He places his palm on Sam's chest, over his heart. "And outside..." He lets both hands roam...all over Sam's chest and stomach, his arms, his hips and thighs...though still over the jeans. "I love _all_ of you, Sammy." He gently strokes one thigh and adds, "I really hope you'll let me _love_ all of you."

And Sam does the only thing he can do at that moment: he nods his assent.

Blaine presses against him and kisses him slow and deep. His fingers fumble with the opening to Sam's jeans. He gets them open, and then he hesitates for a second, pulls away from the kiss, and looks into Sam's eyes. He looks like he wants to say something, but ultimately he doesn't—he goes back to kissing Sam, not on the mouth anymore but on the neck and chest again. His hands are pushing Sam's jeans down his hips, then gliding under the waistband of his briefs, but he hasn't touched _it_ yet.

Sam is simultaneously eager and terrified. Ultimately the eagerness wins out and his hips—totally on their own, it's not like Sam consciously _tells_ them to—arch up into Blaine's touch.

Blaine kisses his chest before he slowly pulls his briefs down, totally exposing him. And then he...he just _looks_ at him while stroking his hips, touching him near but not actually on the part he's staring at so intently. Sam feels his cheeks flush—he's as hot in the face as he is down there. "Blaine..." he pleads.

"It's so beautiful."

Sam throws an arm over his eyes, because looking at Blaine looking at him that way is just too much. "Blaine..." he says again.

"But it is, Sammy. It's so...so pink and strong and healthy and—"

"Blaine, it's a..." He can't bring himself to say the word.

"I know it is, Sammy. And it's yours and I love you."

Sam peeks out from under his arm and sees that Blaine isn't looking at _it_ anymore, he's looking at his face. In his eyes, now that they're uncovered. "I love you too."

"I'm sorry. This is making you uncomfortable," Blaine says, eyes still on Sam's, hands on his bare thighs. "I'll stop."

Sam takes his hand just as he's about to move it away. "Don't stop," he says. "Please." And he moves Blaine's hand closer...until it's almost there...and he has to take his own hand away and cover his eyes again because he can't really believe what's about to happen and _seeing_ it would be just too much.

So he doesn't see Blaine's hand, but he _feels_ it a second later...on him in a place no one's ever touched before...not that he's never touched _himself _there, but this is so different, it's so much better. And it...it almost feels even _less_ wrong suddenly than when he's alone in his bed at night...though maybe that's just a rationalization, maybe it just feels _so good_ at this moment that the part of him that would feel weird about it is being totally overridden...but for whatever reason, Blaine touching him there feels so right and so perfect...he knows Blaine doesn't think there's anything wrong with what they're doing, and right now he's inclined to agree.

Blaine's hand is moving soon, but not like...When Sam does this alone, he does it quickly, so he can climax and be done. But that's not what Blaine is doing at all. Blaine is just stroking him, caressing him even. Like he just really likes touching it. Sam peeks out under his hand and sees Blaine is _looking_ super intently again, with his lips slightly parted and his cheeks all flushed. He's so gorgeous. Blaine catches him peeking and says, "You're so beautiful."

"I was just—ah!—I was just thinking the same thing about you."

Blaine smiles. He glances at his hand, which hasn't stopped its caresses, and says, "You're still okay with this?"

Sam nods. "I was thinking, in fact..." Oh God, it's hard to talk at a time like this. Not to mention that he doesn't know quite how to suggest what he's been thinking. But Blaine's waiting patiently for him to finish, so his forces himself to spit it out: "I was thinking maybe I could...if you don't mind, I mean...I think I'd really like to, uh...touch yours too? If it's okay?"

Blaine nods seriously. "Yes. That would be..._Yes_." He hurriedly starts trying to unbutton his jeans using just his left hand, because his right is still on Sam. Sam realizes he should help, but he's a little stunned by what he's just asked, by what he's about to do, and by the time he's unpanicked enough to move, Blaine has managed on his own. The front of his jeans is open, and Sam can see the black cotton briefs underneath. He can see the hard bulge behind the black cotton briefs underneath.

It's not completely exposed, like Sam's is, which he's kind of glad for. Seeing it, just _out there_, all at once, might be too much. He reaches out tentatively and brushes his fingers lightly over the cotton. "Sam!" Blaine gasps.

"Yeah?" Sam asks him earnestly. "That was good?"

"So good," Blaine assures him. He takes Sam's hand and holds it against himself, still over the briefs. "Oh God, Sammy, so good."

"Could you, like..." Sam wants to touch _Blaine_, not his underwear. He can't quite bring himself to say this, however, so he tugs at them instead. Blaine figures out what he wants and peels his pants and underwear off entirely. Sam stares in wonder. All he can say is, "Oh my God."

"Is it...?" Blaine asks shyly, and it's so sweet because Blaine is _never_ the one who's shy.

Sam nods and says, "Yeah. It's..." But he can't even speak, his mouth is too dry, and he swallows hard. And he reaches out again, no barrier this time between his fingers and Blaine.

Blaine moans, so low and sweet, when Sam's skin touches his. Sam wraps his fingers around and feels it move in his hand, even though both his wrist and Blaine's hips are perfectly still.

This—the way they're touching each other—is so close to the absolute limit of what Sam can handle right now. There are too many things to count that would make it too much, and one of those things is spoken commentary on what they're doing. So when Blaine starts to say how good it feels, Sam has to cut him off. And he does that by asking for the one thing he wants more than anything, the one thing that will add to what they already have without making it too much: "Blaine, kiss me."

And Blaine does. Blaine lies flat on top of him and kisses him harder than he ever has before. Their bodies grind together as their hands roam all over each other. Sam would miss Blaine's hands on his...where they _were_...if something else weren't touching him there now, something a thousand times better, namely, Blaine's...same part. Blaine's _part_ that would have him saying _Oh my God __oh my God __oh my God _if only he could speak. He's imagined exactly this—almost every night, in fact—but the reality of it is _so _much better than his imagination.

So much better, in fact, that his brain doesn't really register that feeling in his gut that serves as a warning of what's about to happen. By the time he realizes what's about to happen, it's too late even to warn Blaine, much less stop. Not that he actually wants to stop. For a few seconds he can't worry about the mess or the fact that Blaine might be disgusted by him, he can only feel pure joy that _far_ exceeds anything he's felt without Blaine.

When it's over, when he's limp and depleted and feels a pool of goo squishing between his body and Blaine's, that's when he worries. Blaine hasn't stopped kissing him—because he's sweet like that—but he has slowed down, clearly because he's bothered by what Sam just did. He turns his head to the side and says, "Blaine, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?"

"I just...Your thing kept rubbing against mine, and it felt really good, but I didn't know I was going to...I mean, I didn't mean to..."

"Sammy...are you trying to tell me that you came?"

"You don't have to pretend you didn't notice. I mean, I got it on you..."

"Sammy!" He tilts Sam's head toward him and doesn't go on speaking until Sam looks him in the eyes. "Some of that is mine too, you know."

"Really? You...you did it too?"

"Yeah." Blaine kisses him sweetly. "And even if I didn't, I would never be mad at you for...Sammy, I _love_ that you came. I love that we came together. I just feel like it's a really honest and natural way of expressing our love for each other."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Blaine kisses him again. "Absolutely."

"But...if I wanted to clean up now, you wouldn't think it meant I don't love you, right? It's just...starting to get cold and feel kinda weird..."

Blaine chuckles. "No, I won't take it personally," he says as he stands and starts to look around for the paper towels.


End file.
